John Markus shot up when the alarm clock shrieked. His arms tangled in the blanket as he sat up, rubbed his eyes, then gave a weak laugh.
"Of course the damn thing screams louder today," he muttered, glancing at the light outside the window.
Morning sun slanted across the gray apartment blocks. The rumble of motorbikes and car horns poured in, making the small room feel even tighter. John drew a deep breath, hurried into the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face, shaking off the last of his drowsiness.
In the mirror, his eyes gleamed, not with excitement, but with a restless feeling he couldn't name. Today, the school would teach their very first cultivation method.
"Just three more months till the college entrance exam" John whispered, his hand clenching the frayed sleeve of his shirt.
The method released by the government was advertised as "near perfect" for level-1 espers. It had been compiled from hundreds of thousands of studies and trials, and most importantly, it was completely public. In a world where other realms could open gates at any time, "hoarding techniques" wasn't just banned, it was branded as betraying humanity.
John remembered yesterday's article: some expert claimed this method was the fairest foundation for selecting talent. Sounded reasonable, but everyone knew the rich kids would skyrocket first. They had the best resources, in absurd amounts: stamina-recovery pills, pure energy solutions that absorbed easily stuff that let them outpace everyone else their age.
Out in the hallway, the shuffling slap of a neighbor's slippers broke into his thoughts. John shut the door, slung on his bag, and trudged down the stairs.
At the school yard, the wind tugged at his uniform. The main gate was jammed with students crowding in, buzzing with chatter.
The afternoon combat class was the same group as John's morning survival class. Twelve had shown up in the morning. By afternoon, only five.
"Talk about sales tanking hard."
A mocking voice came from right behind him.
John turned and saw a group of familiar but not-friendly faces. He shrugged and quickened his pace. He didn't care to argue, though a faint ache still pricked his chest.
Across the yard, the school's PA system barked out, harsh and dry, ordering all seniors to gather in the auditorium. The crowd pushed that way, shoes thudding heavy on the tile floor.
Inside, rows of chairs stretched tight. The air smelled of old plastic and chalk dust. A man in a suit stepped onto the podium, lifted the mic:
"Today, you'll officially come into contact with the cultivation method. This is government-issued, suited for every level-1 esper (note: a person with awakened supernatural abilities). Three months from now, the college entrance exam will assess both theory and practice. So take this seriously."
The voice rolled over them, and silence fell. John sucked in a breath, his heart pounding.
The man raised a slim, black-bound book.
"This method focuses on breathing, opening the dantian(note by Dr.Jack: dantian is the inner energy core where cultivation happens), and controlling energy to cover your body. You'll begin training right away. Remember this: it's the foundation, no matter your path, Warrior or Mage."
A wave of whispers spread through the hall.
"Warriors just get stronger, huh.""Heard Mages get buffed by an Elemental Master.""Doesn't matter what path, it's all useless to me, haha."
John frowned slightly. He knew well that at this stage, both Warriors and Mages had advantages. As for him, with Little Fire, he was never much of a fighter. He could maybe wrap his body in energy, or find a way to adapt it into elemental attacks. But that was only theory.
The fluorescent lights above flickered patchy white across tense young faces.
A teacher came down the aisle, handing out copies of the method. John took his, flipping quickly through. Dense lines of text, but neatly arranged. Breathing formulas spelled out, step-by-step guides for sensing energy in the body.
"As long as you follow each step, anyone can enter the basics," the teacher said. "But the speed depends on your talent and resources."
Someone in the front row snorted. "With money, it's fast. Without it, keep dreaming."
The hall went still, but no one denied it. Rich kids could pop recovery pills, chug pure energy solution. The rest, kids like John, could only grit their teeth.
He lowered his head, fingers brushing down the page, thinking quietly, "If I spend 4,000 bucks, would it be enough to get ahead?"
That noon, class ran late. John packed up his books and wandered out. The hallway was empty, only the wind whispering through glass panes.
Little Fire poked its head from his silver wristband, eyes glowing ember-red. It nuzzled his wrist with a faint sound.
"Yeah, I know," John chuckled softly, stroking its head. "You want me stronger too, right?"
Outside in the yard, sunlight stretched in long slants. The five afternoon-class students walked past, full of confidence. One of them glanced at John, eyes cool, like looking straight through him.
John pressed his lips together, heat crawling up his back. But he didn't bow his head. He just turned away silently.
By the time dusk fell, John sat at a drink stall outside the school gate, phone in hand, scrolling through esper item listings. Bright words flashed on the screen:
"Level-1 Energy Solution – 1,000 USD per bottle, promo: buy 3, get a recovery voucher."
His finger hovered over the purchase button. Beside him, a bus screeched to a stop, brakes shrill, dust flying.
John frowned, complicated light flickering in his eyes. Four thousand dollars was all the savings he had left. He was torn, debating whether to buy three bottles of level-1 energy solution and finally start cultivating for real.
Little Fire poked out again, its ruby eyes reflecting the streetlight just flicking on. John closed the phone, hand clenched tight. He stayed sitting, night wind riffling his hair, the taste of exhaust heavy in the air.